


Physician, Heal Thyself

by TrakeniteTourist (auronlu)



Series: Bird Has Flown [6]
Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Established Relationship, Even Data Is Better At Flirting Than The Fifth Doctor, F/M, Fluff and Smut, H/C up to eleven in fact, Hurt/Comfort, PWP, Self-Indulgent, Sharing a Bed, Tentacle Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 13:52:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11276607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auronlu/pseuds/TrakeniteTourist
Summary: Sacrificing himself to a swamp god was just one more of the Fifth Doctor's spectacularly bad ideas to save the universe, or at least protect a village. Nyssa had good reason to fear he wouldn't come out of this one unscathed.





	Physician, Heal Thyself

“Are you sure?” The woman smiled down at Nyssa. “There’s dancing and singing, and the storytellers will be at it again tonight. You’re always welcome to join us.”

“No, but thank you,” Nyssa said. “I’ll stay with the Doctor. I’m hoping he’ll wake soon.”

“So we all hope,” the woman said diplomatically. “Good night, then, little one. Mind your step and keep to the lit paths, if you change your mind.” She stepped back onto the floating dock. Relieved of her weight, the boat rocked gently on its moorings. The headwoman disappeared nimbly into the darkness, a giant striding along zigzagging plank pathways illuminated by torches.

Nyssa turned away, surveying the uninhabited side of the lake. Past the village of linked rafts and houseboats, black water spread out under the stars towards a distant fringe of forests and low hills. Faint moving fairy lights showed the flights of bioluminescent insects rising along the nearer shore. More lights, fuzzy embers just beneath the surface, hinted at hunting fish adapted to mimic their prey. Small creatures were peeping in the shallows. Further out, the lake was dappled with dim reflections of stars, flecks of cloud and three asteroid moonlets. It would have been a perfect night, if not for the fact that she had the view all to herself. The distant sounds of singing, drums and musical instruments were a poignant if raucous reminder that the true guest of honour was unavailable.

The rocking of the boat slowly stilled. Sighing, she turned away from the peaceful panorama and ducked under an oiled-leather canopy to the covered area in back. There, on a mattress stuffed with reeds under light blankets, the Doctor lay absolutely still. Had the blankets shifted, or just the shadows? Hope was playing tricks on her again.

“Hello, Doctor,” she said, sitting down on the bulwark near his head. “Me again. It’s another quiet night. I wish you could see it. The lake is very beautiful.” She lifted his hand, stroking it slowly. It was cool, but not abnormally so, not the clammy chill that had made her fear the worst when they first fished him out of the lake. “It rises and falls twice a day, but I can’t figure out why. The moons are too small to be causing tidal fluctuations. The villagers have a story to explain it, of course: they’re convinced it’s the Saraksin breathing. But if that were so, the cycle should have stopped when it died.”

“With that creature out of the water, the villagers finally succeeded in hauling the TARDIS up from the bottom today. They helped me get it cleaned off, more or less. I expect the rest will come off when we dematerialise. They’ve moved her to a raft, because she kept sinking into the moss on shore.” She paused, wracking her brain for inconsequentials. “Sphagnum moss, or at least that’s what the translation circuits are calling it. It smells rather nice; they dry and burn it for fuel. They sit around fires in the evening telling stories, just like humans do. No biting insects, thank goodness.” Her voice softened. “I’ve been telling them all about you. I know you don’t like it when I do that, but my stories from Traken don’t hold much interest for them. I suppose peace and tranquility aren’t exciting enough, when you’ve lived under constant threat your whole life. They like you, though. They’ve already made up a few songs about you. The brave little man who fights monsters.”

“ _Little?!_ ” The mutter was so faint, she might have missed it, were they not at the edge of the town. “First two incarnations, maybe.”

“Doctor?” She leaned over him, dread and joy clashing in a confused jumble. She could not make out his face clearly, but she was sure she had not imagined his voice this time. “At last! Welcome back.”

“How long?” he croaked.

“Since you sacrificed yourself to the swamp god? Or since the villagers pulled you out? Three months or five days, respectively.”

“Is that all?” He opened his eyes, peering at the knobby rafters of the canopy stretched over them. “I can’t seem to remember… what happened?”

“You kept the Saraksin from eating anyone else,” she said, with admiration and disapproval, “by throwing yourself into the lake. You’ve been down there ever since. I couldn’t reach the TARDIS, Doctor, so I couldn’t send for help. I was finally able to synthesise a neurotoxin using a local plant extract. It blocked your neurotransmitters, deadened the pain until there was nothing left for the creature to feed on.”

He stirred, eyes suddenly wide. “Nyssa, you’ve got to put me back! It’ll keep consuming these people… more and more… It’s almost strong enough to leave this planet!”

“It’s _dead_ , Doctor,” she said firmly. “It became addicted to you. Your pain tolerance was so high, it couldn’t bear to let you go, even when it began to starve. The villagers were finally able to haul up the central cortex and burn it. There’s nothing left. They’ve dredged the whole lake.”

“You’re sure?”

“Quite sure, Doctor.” She turned down the blankets, placed his hand gently upon his chest, then moved to the foot of the bed. He was dressed in a loose canvas tunic and trousers tied at the knee. His old clothes were ruined, caked in muck and perforated where the beast’s horrible suckers had latched on. That was how it had pumped just enough oxygen and nutrients into its prey’s bloodstream to keep the unlucky victim alive. Nyssa had been submerged for only a few minutes, but she remembered the blind panic as her lungs began filling with water, drowning without dying, one small part of the agonies on which it feasted. As for the rest… it did not bear thinking about. The creature’s stingers were terrifyingly well-adapted to probe the victim’s pain tolerance until it discovered precisely how much could be administered without rendering its prey unconscious. How could such a vile thing have evolved? The villagers had stories about divine punishment, the kind of myth that could shackle a people for generations, but nothing could explain such mindless cruelty.

The Doctor was free, but there was no way to know whether her cure had done as much harm as the affliction. What if the toxin had caused permanent nerve damage? Reminding herself that life was not truly over until it ended, she grasped one of his ankles and began to flex his leg gently, moving it through its full range of motion. He was alive, he was conscious, and he was lucid, despite an ordeal that would have slain or driven most people insane. She must trust him to get through this. “Thank you for taking my place, by the way.”

“Least I could do, since… er… Nyssa? What are you doing?”

“Can you feel your legs?”

He raised his head jerkily, looking down at her. She was both heartened and dismayed by the spastic movement. “A little… what’s wrong with me?”

“The neurotoxin,” she said. “It’s taken some time for your body to flush it out. You must have been utterly exhausted by the time we reached you.”

“I was, rather,” he said, letting his head fall back with a thump. “Thank you for… bringing me back.”

“I nearly killed you. I thought your hearts had stopped.” After a lower concentration had failed to overcome Gallifreyan physiology, she’d been forced to use a dosage that would kill a full-grown native, a third again his body mass. When the villagers disentangled him from his slimy prison, she had fully expected he would be wearing a different face. It was with something close to despair that she had directed them to carry him back to the boat they had given her. Misunderstanding, they had offered to burn it as a funeral barge. Only her stubborn vigil had stopped them. She had not thought anything could be worse than hour after hour ticking by while he was tortured somewhere in the depths, but that first night had been bleak indeed. Inducing regeneration was bad enough, but she had believed she had succeeded in murdering him where the Master had failed.

“Frankly,” he said, echoing her morbid thoughts, “if only I could have been sure it wouldn’t latch onto anyone else, I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Don’t think about it now,” she said, although it had been all she could think about for months. Taking her own advice, she addressed herself to physical therapy again, moving to his other leg. His foot flexed against her hand when she pushed. That was hopeful, at any rate.

“Nyssa,” he said patiently, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but that tickles.”

“Good.” She set his foot down and drew the covers over him again. “Do you suppose you could drink something, if I help you sit?”

“This is all needless fuss and bother,” he grumbled. “I’ll be quite myself again by tomorrow.”

“You’ve been paralysed for days, Doctor,” she said, pouring a jug of squeezed pith and bringing it over to him. The gentle swaying of the hull under her feet was so natural by now that she barely noticed. He pushed himself up with his elbows, giving her a defiant look. Nevertheless, he had to let her support some of his weight, and he could not manage a firm grip on the jug.

He wrinkled his nose. “What is this?”

“Something like coconut milk. Drink _,_ Doctor. Please. It’s supposed to have restorative properties.”

He submitted without further complaint, even when she had to tip up the jug for him. The chagrin radiating off him was palpable. This kind of helplessness did not sit well with him. “Not bad,” he said finally, pushing it away.

Nyssa set the clay vessel aside, keeping one arm behind his shoulders. Turning back to him, she brushed her lips against his temple. He angled his face towards her. She met his kiss at once, lowering him to the mattress without breaking contact. He responded weakly but warmly, the rise and fall of his chest becoming noticeable beneath the blanket.

“Mmmmm,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were taking advantage of my condition.”

“You may be right,” she said, stroking his cheek with a knuckle. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been so worried. But response to stimulus is a good sign the toxin’s wearing off. I hope—” she yawned. Best not tell him her hopes, lest she give away her fears. He simply _must_ recover. He was the Doctor.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he said.

“I… I don’t know. I’ve been napping.”

“Worrying over me, you mean.” He gave her a thin smile. “Get some rest.”

“Do you mind if…” She patted the mattress next to him. “They gave me a one-person boat. But then, they’re giants.”

“After the Saraksin, believe me, sharing a bed with a porcupine would be congenial.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what that is, but I trust I’m better company.” She removed her shoes, trousers, and water-stained velvet top. Strange how natural it felt now, no longer having to worry about separate lodgings or the need for privacy. Courtesy, yes, but he no longer seemed shocked or bewildered when she crossed once-sacrosanct boundaries. Lifting the blanket, she slid in beside him, rested her cheek against his shoulder and curled an arm over his chest. “Is this all right?”

“I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question.”

“I’ll take that as an affirmative, then.” She yawned again. “Wake me if you need anything. Anything at all, Doctor.”

* * *

Some hours later, she roused to find him twitching and jerking fitfully at her side. “Doctor?” Her chest tightened. If this was an effect of the paralysis wearing off…

He came awake with a gasp and went limp beside her. “Ugh. Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“A nightmare?” She laid a hand on his forehead, which was glistening in the dim light. He felt clammy.

Reaching up to gather her wrist in a loose clasp, he drew her palm down over his mouth and kissed it. Nyssa caught her breath. It was so rare for him to initiate any kind of intimacy before she did. Guessing the reason, she raised herself onto one elbow to nuzzle his neck, drawing a knee over his body and stroking his legs gently through the canvas of his trousers.

He shifted under her and let out a stifled moan. “Yes, that’s… very definitely the opposite of what I was dreaming. You should probably stop.”

She went still. “Sorry. I wish I could help you forget.”

“Don’t apologise.” He swallowed. “I… I really don’t mind, but… I think I may embarrass both of us, if you keep doing that.”

“Embarrass _you_ , you mean.” She cupped the side of his face, turning his head towards her gently. “But does it help?”

He moved closer, still a little uncoordinated and weak, and whispered into her ear, “More than I care to admit.”

She shivered at his breath on her cheek. “Then don’t be more willing to suffer that horrible thing’s embraces than mine.”

By way of answer, he heaved himself onto his side and cast an arm around her waist. They kissed for a while, a drowsy back-and-forth that seemed to suit the stillness of the lake, the quiet creak of boats tugging against their ropes as they shifted slowly on the night breeze. Aromas of wood, tar and peat-laden water added a raw earthiness to their surroundings, so different from the sterile air conditioning and monotone hum of the TARDIS.

Nyssa expected him to drift off to sleep, but he seemed more eager to hold onto her. His caresses were fitful, often trailing off or ending with a spasmodic clutch like the grip of a drowning man. Acting on one of those mischievous impulses that was half lust and half scientific curiosity, she reached down between their bodies, fingers skating across his groin. He made one of those noises that tended to embarrass him and fumbled with the bottom of her camisole, tugging until she shifted to help him remove it.

Whatever paralysis might still be affecting his extremities, his mouth, at least, seemed to have fully recovered. Nyssa gave an undignified squeak as he began exploring her collarbones and chest.

“I was trying to wake up _your_ nervous system, not mine,” she said, blushing in the dark.

“I think this is helping,” he mumbled against her breastbone.

She raised no further objections— indeed, it would have been difficult to do so. He was as sweet and solicitous as ever, even while clumsy and uncoordinated. But his movements were growing more controlled, exquisitely so. When he sucked at one breast, she could only slide her fingers into his hair and breathe out until he moved on. But as wonderful as his attentions felt, she was determined to give him this night. Fingers teasing, she caressed the line of his jaw, his ear, his neck, the knotted muscles in his shoulders and upper back. Her heel gently traced the back of his leg down to his calf, trying to paint every inch of his skin she could reach with soothing caresses. Every now and then he jumped as if receiving an electric shock. Memories, so much harder to keep at bay when time was so very present for him.

It was some small consolation that he had come to accept physical intimacy as part of their relationship. Otherwise, he would have been grappling with remembered agonies in stoic silence, hiding from her until he was once more able to present a blandly cheerful face to the world. He would not confide in her even now, but at least he would not push her away.

Wanting to reach more of him, she tugged at the laces of his shirt, loosening his collar. He caught her hand and peered past her, squinting out at the abstract shadows of pilings and walkways. The eye level of anyone standing outside would be well above the level of the roof’s canopy, which hung down around the sides like half-drawn blinds, but beneath that awning there were no walls. “Er… Nyssa… you do realise we’re out in the open and there’s people about?”

“A little late to be worrying about that now, don’t you think?” she said, sitting up. The oilskin canopy was almost opaque, letting in very little moonlight, but she still glimmered faintly in the dark.

“Oh,” he said, so nonplussed that she almost laughed. Was he really that oblivious?

She kicked off her underthings and tugged at his shirt again. “Everyone who’s awake is on the other side of the village,” she said. “And no one could look under here unless they’re being nosy. Which would be to their discredit, not ours.”

He stared at her for rather longer than usual before dropping his eyes. Then he sat up with a lurch. “Good grief. What on Earth am I wearing?”

“Castoffs from the headwoman’s teenaged son,” she said. “There was nothing else small enough.”

“Children’s pyjamas?!” he huffed. “Hardly fitting for a Time Lord. Get me out of these at once.”

Smiling at the transparent excuse, she obliged in short order. The sight of his fit body was as gratifying as ever, but the evidence of his captivity made her ache. Puckered white crescents on his chest, arms and legs showed where the suckers had latched onto him. He looked away from her scrutiny, jaw tightening when she ventured to brush one with a fingertip.

“That looks tender,” she said.

“Almost numb, as a matter of fact.” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“If you say so.” Respecting his pride, she tried her best to ignore them, pressing her hands lightly against his chest and coaxing him to lie back. She settled over him on knees and elbows, covering him without smothering him. He drew an uneven breath and draped his arms around her. Looking down at his face, his deep-set eyes lost in shadows, she felt another upwelling of emotion. She knew better than to think of him as _her_ Doctor, but he was _the_ Doctor, her beloved companion who was much dearer than a friend.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he said, breathing a little faster.

“Just… sometimes I remember how amazing you are, that’s all. The things you do. The things you _can_ do.” Seeing his lips compress into a thin line, she added quickly, “Also, while I know your face is essentially arbitrary— the one you have is really quite appealling. Did you know that?”

“I’ve been told I have a pleasant face,” he said, voice gruff and a little pained, “but I hadn’t given it much thought. Still, as long as we’re being disconcertingly honest… well… it’s not your most admirable quality, mind you, but I have noticed your—” he swallowed. “That is to say, you have a rather splendid set of features. Especially your eyes. A poet would definitely have something to say about your eyes.”

“Oh, Doctor _._ ” She kissed his chin, noting that his deflections were even clumsier than usual, and that he was being sincere almost in spite of himself. “Thank you. But I suppose we’d better leave poetry to the poets, before we lapse into descriptive anatomy.” She lowered her voice. “Really, I’m just dreadfully glad to have you back.”

“Thanks to one of your more admirable qualities,” he said, strained, “a scientific mind. For someone so gentle, you can be brutally practical when necessary. For which I am exceedingly grateful.”

She had no answer to that, for it had been a revelation to her that she might rob him of the life she loved most to give his remaining regenerations a chance. But for once their incredible extremes of luck had turned out well, and the same two hearts she cherished were beating a hand’s breadth from hers.

Perhaps sensing her guilt, he stroked a comforting caress down her back. “Are you cold, by the way?”

She relaxed and snuggled against him. “Not really.” The night air was cool, almost matching his resting temperature, but she was too warmed up right now to mind. “You?”

“Maybe a little,” he said, giving a delicate cough.

Smiling, she returned to her self-appointed mission with tender devotion. It was irrational, but she yearned to rid him of that creature’s blighted touch, as if she could somehow cancel out the hurts it had inflicted with sweeter sensations. She roved over him, stroking and leaving a trail of lingering kisses on his brow, his eyes, his cheeks, his throat, his chest, his stomach. For once, he gave up trying to make this dance a mutual one, eyes closing and limbs giving occasional jerks when she struck a nerve. He was trying to sense everything, even where his skin was still numb. He nearly kicked her in the face when she moved down to kiss his instep.

“Sorry,” he said, voice going a bit squeaky. “Sorry.”

“Well, that seems to be in working order, at least,” she observed, working her thumbs gently up his muscled calf.

“Ah…. Nyssa…”

“Shhh.” Shins, knees, inner thighs…. yes, he was most definitely feeling her now, to judge by his loud breathing.

His hands scrabbled at her shoulders. Relenting, she crawled back up his body and settled over him, tucking her knees around his hips. He groped for her fervently. She felt around in the dark, heard his breath hiss through his teeth when her palm brushed against firm flesh. With a shaky sigh, she centred herself and carefully eased down onto him. There, here, and _now._ A precious instant. Accommodating to his shape was always rather ticklish at first, and she quivered with a foreshock before he was halfway in. He groaned again and squeezed her buttocks.

“All right down there, Doctor?” she asked, voice high and faint.

“Mmph.” He flashed that smile that always melted her a little. “Can’t complain, really.”

“You’re very silly sometimes,” she told him, squeezing and releasing until he lost the last traces of self-possession with a throaty gasp. She began to glide over him, circling her hips slightly as she rose and fell. Aware of his gaze riveted upon her as if he could not look away, a flood of exhilaration washed over her. His hands were on the move again, almost back to their usual deftness. Pinch and caress, feather-light touches and kneading, it was his turn to render her speechless as a very different kind of burning spread out from his fingertips. In danger of losing her balance, she braced against the bed with one hand and forked her fingers around the base of his shaft with the other to keep from losing him. Tingling warmth began to build inside and out. He was starting to buck beneath her, urging her to go faster. She followed his lead, squeezing her eyes shut for a time to read his body’s shifts and answer with joyful exuberance. Finally, throwing his head back with teeth clenched, he arched under her in a heaving convulsion that made her eyes water. The tremor lasted for several glorious seconds before he sagged, still shuddering, and curled an arm behind her back to pull her roughly down against his chest.

The sudden change in position was uncomfortable, but before she could adjust he had rolled her beneath him, holding her tightly and riding her with unsteady, delicious pulses that shot through her like minor thunderbolts. She shifted her hand slightly, the one that was now pinned where their bodies joined, thumb making up the difference as he began to soften. But it was his harsh breaths at her ear that finally drove her over the edge. She bit his shoulder to muffle a cry. The boat seemed to be sinking and sinking, until it rebounded violently to the surface. Spasms of pleasure wracked her until she was whimpering, vaguely aware of his soothing whispers and his hands cupping her face as he kissed away tears.

“Easy, Nyssa, easy now… I’ve got you…”

When she finally came back to her senses, she found that she was sprawled on top of him again, clinging to his chest with his fingers tangled in her hair, their ragged panting a pleasantly ordinary medley of spent lust.

“Doctor?” she whispered, dazed.

“Mmm?” Still awake, it seemed, but barely.

“Never mind.” She rubbed her face against his neck. “You’re still amazing. Go to sleep.”

“A mess,” he muttered, in answer to both her words and her unspoken question. “I feel like a frightful mess.”

“That’s not what you felt like a moment ago,” she whispered, savouring the leaping sparks and slow burning tingle that lingered between her legs. She supposed they should clean up, but right now, she was blissfully unwilling to move.

With a snort that was half amused, half mortified, he reached down and snagged the blankets on the third try, fumbling to pull them over her. “A little help, Nyssa?”

She roused herself enough to shift so he could draw them up and over her, smoothing out their wrinkles across her back with unnecessary care. He nudged her hair aside to press one last kiss against her temple, then went still. His breathing began to slow and deepen.

The boat creaked against its hawsers. Water slapped lightly against the hull until its gentle rocking faded away. Distant sounds and scents of living things blended with the humble traces of recent passion and the faint squeaky-snore of a thoroughly exhausted Time Lord.

 _My Doctor,_ Nyssa thought muzzily as she followed him down into dreams. _Brave precious soul, you can’t help healing me even when you need it more._


End file.
